


Burnt

by Punxutawney



Category: True Blood
Genre: Bloodplay, Height Differences, M/M, Old work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-18
Updated: 2009-09-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 09:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7502289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punxutawney/pseuds/Punxutawney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a time when existence means nothing but sex and blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burnt

There's a time when existence means nothing but sex and blood. The little boy named Death turns out to be warm and sharp and dangerously alive. He turns out to be not a mere boy, but it seems he has a young man's endless hunger for Eric's body.

Eric doubts this is Valhalla, but if it is, instead of women he's gotten a ravenous demon that sinks its teeth and claws into his skin and drinks him empty every night.

"You're so beautiful," he repeats – "So big and _strong_ ," – growling like an animal when Eric fucks him into whatever surface they've hit against.

The killing, the _power_ , is intoxicating now that Eric has learned they are meant to prey on weak and blind humans, but it's nothing compared to how the boy feels around him, inside him. How he craves the silky skin and the coarse hair and the burning taste every second they're apart. How he craves to be craved, and needed, and taken so greedily. He can't remember how it felt to be alone in his head. He doesn't want to.

" _Eric_ ," his maker says quietly when he's crouched over a warm, dead body, mouth full of blood in which he can still feel a heartbeat. His maker calls him and he answers in an instant, lifting the boy easily up, closer, and crashing their mouths together. The boy licks the blood from his lips and tongue, always hungry for more, and when there's nothing left his teeth pierce Eric's skin.

His touch always hurts, but the pain is exquisite and Eric needs it just as badly as the pleasure. He lets Eric drink from himself until they're both dripping, completely soaked in each other's blood. He tastes so different from humans it is hard to believe him when he tells he was once like them, too, weak and blind. He tastes old, almost bitter if it wasn't for the sweet aftertaste; he tastes of a thousand lands and a million deaths. His blood sears Eric's mouth raw, makes him feel like he'll burn to ashes if he doesn't take the boy, _now_. So he does.

And the boy laughs – an insane, beautiful laughter through deadly teeth – when Eric throws him into the ground, shreds whatever he's wearing if anything, tears him apart so roughly he bleeds, forces himself into the lithe, taut body that is always fresh for him to soil. The boy sounds always ecstatic, no matter how deep Eric plunges, no matter how far he'll go.

"Again," the boy pleads between moans, eyes as black as the marks on his skin, baring his throat. Eric obeys, as always, finds the juiciest vein with his tongue, a spot where he knows the skin resists just so. When he closes his mouth over it, the boy pushes him up, holding on to him, so he ends up on his knees with the small, strong body in his arms. The boy wraps his legs around him, and he pulls him down with force and bites.

The new blood covers the already drying stains on his jaw, and he can't help but suck, and push up, or pull down, anything to get _deeper_. The body in his arms is a light but solid weight. He laughs again, and Eric keeps drinking and fucking until the laughter turns into hoarse, guttural noises, and the boy's blood-covered fingers in his hair tear and claw his scalp sore. The fire inside him is always too much for Eric, and he comes with one more bite into the soft skin. The blood has burned his mouth numb. The boy clutches at him like he's drowning, and he can feel back muscles tensing under his touch, and when the boy comes he nips almost gently at Eric's earlobe.

Afterwards, he's pliant and and lets Eric lick his thighs and belly clean. It never lasts, but for a moment he's sated and young, and hums a simple tune.


End file.
